


Half Life

by the_pale_rider



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, post Episode III
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7178477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pale_rider/pseuds/the_pale_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan and Darth Vader reflect on their situations following their duel on Mustafar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Life

He sat at a table in one of the few cantinas in Anchorhead. A few months ago, he had arrived on Tatooine with few belongings and no idea what to do. After handing Luke over to his uncle and aunt, he had returned to the town, lost and unsure. His mind had still been reeling from events of the past weeks; Order 66, the fall of the Republic and Palpatine’s ascension to power and…Anakin. 

Despite everything he had seen, he couldn’t believe that the small boy from this very planet, the boy he had trained and grown to love, could have fallen so far into darkness. The pain of his betrayal threatened to overwhelm him. But it was nothing compared to their duel. 

After wandering aimlessly, he had summoned his strength, centered himself in the Force and regained some of his famous calm and resolve. He’d heard of a small dwelling far out in the Jundland Wastes. The previous owner had been killed by Tusken Raiders and no one had taken over the property since. 

On the edge of the Western Dune Sea, he made a simple life for himself. He spent his time meditating and training with Qui-Gon. He occasionally visited Anchorhead and Tosche Station to get food and supplies. To hide his identity, he took to going by the name ‘Ben’ when dealing with the locals. His Jedi robes were now stained by dust and grit, his hair and beard wild and unkempt and his skin tanned a deep brown by the harsh twin suns. None would recognise him as Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and General of the Clone Wars.

The fanfare of a HoloNet transmission broke through his reverie. Despite it being little more than a mouthpiece for the young Galactic Empire, it was the only news source he had access to. Wide shots flawed with static panned across rank upon rank of faceless Imperial Stormtroopers, their white armour gleaming in the sunlight as they stood to attention before a raised podium. The newscaster described the incorporation of another planet to the growing Empire.

“Initial talks had proved fruitful and were progressing well when armed insurgents attacked the Imperial delegation and forced a conflict that caused much regretted devastation and loss of life on both sides.”

The camera zoomed closer to the platform to witness the appointment of the Imperial Governor. The shot panned across the gathering of Imperial officers, dignitaries and aides assembled to witness the Empire’s latest triumph. 

“…this insurgency was deemed serious enough to warrant the intervention of Lord Vader, who arrived in the fourth month of the conflict…”

He didn’t hear the rest of the report. He simply stared at the screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. The camera focused on a menacing figure in glossy black armour, at least head and shoulders taller than the surrounding Imperials.

“It can’t be,” he muttered. “It can’t be.”

He lurched his feet, cold dread flooding his body. How? How was this possible? Anakin’s injuries…surely he couldn’t have survived. 

The Emperor, he thought. He must have sensed the danger and travelled to Mustafar after he had piloted Padme’s shuttle away. Who knows what he had done to save the apprentice he had invested so much time seducing to the Dark Side.

He stumbled from the cantina. He had to get to Luke. He wouldn’t be safe here, not on Anakin’s homeworld. 

***

The harsh grate of the rebreather rasped and hissed, each halting breath sending ragged shards of pain sawing through his chest. It never ceased; the life support systems built into the suit controlled much of his crippled body, keeping at remained of him alive.

Towering above the surrounding Imperials, he didn’t require the Force to know their thoughts. His sudden appearance, mysterious origins and position as the Emperor’s right hand made him an object of fear and dislike amongst the officer cadre. He didn’t care. So long as they knew that he spoke with his Master’s authority and obeyed, he was content to leave them to their petty rivalries. 

The new governor, Dekkan, continued his rambling speech. Such pointless ceremony grated on him. The prolonged stillness amplified the discomforts created by his suit. The sheer weight of the armour and prosthetics pressing down upon him, the sense of claustrophobia created by the grim death mask he wore, the painful itch where the prosthetics were grafted to his severed limbs.

It had taken many months of torturous effort to adjust. Immediately after the surgery, he had struggled to walk. The suit and armour severely hampered his speed and agility, forcing him to rework his entire fighting style. In the early months, he had been forced to fall back on basic techniques, relying on his augmented strength and the Force to win. Such inadequacy only served to fuel his anger, driving him to train for days until he was confident in his abilities once more. 

He hated it. But hate, as his Master had taught him, should be embraced and harnessed to serve him. Hatred fed his strength and through strength, he would gain power.  
But that power had counted for nothing. He had failed Padme. He’d murdered her, and their child. He had lost everything he’d cared about. 

Padme. Obi-Wan. The Jedi. 

This was all he had left. Power and service to his Master. He was Anakin Skywalker no more; that name only brought pain and sadness. He was Darth Vader, a Dark Lord of the Sith. He would enforce his Master’s will and ensure the Sith ruled the galaxy.

Dekkan had finally finished. Breaking from his reverie, he swept off the platform, scattering the gaggle of aides before him. He would report to his Master aboard the _Executor _and receive his next assignment.__


End file.
